


Trade

by Drownedinlight



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Out of Character, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drownedinlight/pseuds/Drownedinlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Pitch meet at a Hallowe'en party. A single trade quickly escalates into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write BlackFrost. As such I wrote this nearly three years ago for a friend, and it was originally posted on one of my side-tumblrs. But since tumblr might go up in smoke any day now, I'm trying to move stuff over to other platforms.

Jack feels Pitch before he sees him. He’s dancing to a remix of something at Jacko’s Hallowe’en bash—lights flashing all around sweaty, bodies cramming together as the spirits party after the kids have gone to bed—when a chill runs up his spin. Being that he is a winter spirit, getting a chill is pretty difficult for Jack. His hips still as his eyes rove across the crowd to see Pitch Black standing against a wall, his eyes boring into Jack.

Jack cocks his head to the side, and looks Pitch up and down—the spirit of fear is out of his normal robe and trousers and wears…a military uniform of some kind. Jack has never seen a black uniform with gold trim quite like it, but it makes Pitch look…robust, regal…attractive.

He still hasn’t stopped staring.

Jack presses his heels into the ground, and lifts off, floating above the crowd until he reaches Pitch. “Hey there, oogie boogieman, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Frost,” says Pitch. “And what are you supposed to be dressed as during this pervertion of tradition and fear?”

Hmm…Jack reaches up to run his hand through his hair, and finds that his head band has gone missing. He frowns, wondering when that happened, but turns around to point to the tail pinned to his leather paints. “I’m a sexy bunny—or I was. Half my costume sort of got misplaced.”

“Facisinating,” Pitch replies looking away. Wait…if Pitch looked away, does that mean he checked out Jack’s rear?

Jack grins, and thinks, yes, that’s exactly what that means. He looks Pitch up and down in return, realizing how well the uniform really does _suit_ Pitch. As he looks back up to Pitch’s eyes, he sees that the Boogeyman has caught him staring. “And what are you supposed to be, O Master of Fear.”

Pitch snorts and sips his drink. “I am the past—one of the most frightening things of all. And you really should run along now, don’t you think? Wouldn’t do for one of your Guardian friends to find out that you were caught having a good time with the evil Pitch Black, now would it.”

“Psh,” Jack says waving away Pitch’s words. “Firstly, we are not having anything resembling a good time. I caught you staring and came to investigate. We have exchanged half-a-dozen sentences so far. Secondly, none of the Guardians go to this sort of thing, nor do they really care to listen to gossip. Thirdly, I don’t really care what they think about my friends, because they are my friends and the Guardians have yet to make it to that status.”

“Oh?” Pitch asks. He leans in, golden eyes half lidded, and totally not looking at Jack’s face.

Jack shrugs. “Well, I’ve known them on a personal level for six months. We haven’t really hung out much in that time, and some of my friends I’ve known for centuries.” Jack swallows, and realizes how parched he is. “Hey, can I have some of that?”

Pitch blinks as Jack gestures to his mug. “You want some of my mead?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Dude, it’s a sip of liquid.”

“Nothing is free. Especially not with me.”

Jack pouts and crosses his arms in front of his blue mesh clad chest. “I don’t really have anything to give you, you know?”

Pitch takes a slow deliberate drink of his mead. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

Jack taps his toe, and wriggles his hip, turning briefly to see everyone shout and pump fists at the start of a new song. As he turns back, Pitch’s gaze does not escape him. Jack wriggles his hips again, watching the Nightmare King lick his lips. “Is there something in particular that you want, Pitch?”

For the first time since they started talking, Pitch’s eyes meet Jack’s eyes. They both stand for a moment—Jack feels absolutely breathless—before Pitch’s mouth curls into a smile, revealing a line of his sharp teeth. “Make me an offer Jack, one I can’t refuse.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, and runs his tongue over his lips. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble for just a drink.”

“And don’t you just love trouble, Jack?” Pitch asks, his grin only leaving his lips as he forms his words.

“Well…” Jack takes a step forward, almost pressing up against Pitch. “Well, then, how about a kiss—one kiss for one drink of mead, hmmm…? How does that sound, Nightmare King?”

Pitch makes a noise near the roof of his mouth—something between a scoff and a chuckle. “Well, then, Winter Shepherd, go ahead and kiss me.”

Jack presses up on his toes, and cups Pitch’s face with his hands. Their lips meet, and Jack knows that that’s all he’s agreed to, but he decides he wants to go the extra mile. He licks Pitch’s lips, which are stained with the taste of mead. He kisses again and again—licks and licks—until Pitch opens his mouth and his free arm snakes around Jack’s waist and pulls him closer. Pitch breaks off, and instead presses his mouth to Jack’s jaw, and then scrapes his teeth across the winter spirit’s neck. When he bites down into the pale flesh of Jack’s neck, Jack almost pulls away from Pitch’s grip. He mostly doesn’t because Pitch has a hella strong grip, long, skinny fingers digging into Jack’s hip, and fuck that does feel good.

Jack groans relishing the sensation of the teeth, and whimpers a little bit when Pitch pulls away. Pitch says nothing, but holds the goblet of mead up to Jack’s lips. Jack takes it in his hand, and looks down to see the glass is half full. He pulls away—this time succeeds in breaking free from Pitch’s grip—raising the glass to his lips and downs the mead so fast some dribbles down his chin. The mead is good—spicy and quinces his thirst only to replace it as it slides down his throat.

“That,” says Pitch as Jack lowers the cup, “was more than one drink.”

“That was more than a kiss,” Jack replies, reaching up to wipe the mead from his chin.

Pitch reaches out, and latches onto Jack’s wrist—the one connected to the hand holding the goblet—and swings him around. Jack finds himself pinned between Pitch and the wall—a rock and a—he giggles—a hard place if what’s happening below Pitch’s waist is something to go by.

“I want another one,” Pitch demands. “Kiss me again.”

“Ask me nicely,” Jack retorts, wrapping his legs around Pitch and squeezing him.

Pitch slams him into the wall again. “You broke your part of the bargain!”

“A kiss for a drink,” Jack says. “We never said how big the drink would be, or that you could fucking bite me.” He tosses the goblet away, and wraps his arms around Pitch’s neck. “As me nicely, and I’ll do it again.”

Pitch growls—Jack can almost see in his eyes that he contemplates dropping the Frost spirit right then and there—but he ekes out between gritted teeth, “Will you please kiss me, Jack Frost?”

“That’s all you had to do.” Jack shakes his head and laughs, leaning forward to press their mouths together again. Pitch hums into the kiss, sliding his hand under Jack’s rump, holding him up more so that Jack can loosen his full body hold on Pitch. Jack, for his part, rubs himself against the other man, letting Pitch know just how hard he is, how aching his is for another move, as Pitch sucks and bites and licks at Jack’s mouth, his lips and his neck. Jack let himself be kissed and bitten and reduced to a pile of moaning, writhing goo.

Pitch pulls away, both of them panting to ask, “Mine or yours, Frost?”

It takes a moment for Jack to divert enough blood back to his brain to think before he answers, “Neutral territory—Jacko has rooms set aside upstairs.”

Pitch nods, and then Jack feels like he’s just been slimed before Pitch throws him back onto a bed that wasn’t there before. They are no longer in the main room, but above it. Jack can hear the thrum of the music below, and realizes belatedly that Pitch shadow traveled them there. “That was weird,” says Jack.

“Mmm,” says Pitch. He backs away a little, and kneels before Jack in a completely unexpected turn. Jack has to sit up to see Pitch unlacing the leather booths Jack had put on only hours before. Pitch slips a boot off of one of Jack’s feet, then the other. In a further surprising turn, he kisses each of Jack’s feet in turn, on the tops right above his big toes. Jack watches the whole display, mystified, but is no less receptive with Pitch leans up to kiss him, softly, pulling away a little after each kiss. Pitch’s fingers tangle under the hem of Jack’s mesh shirt, pulling it over the frost-man’s head. Then those long, skinny fingers travel down Jack’s chest—pushing him down onto the bed—to the hem of his pants. Pitch pulls off the pants in a single swipe.

Jack, for a moment, feels vulnerable as he lies stark naked for Pitch Black to watch and consume. But then Pitch covers Jack with his body, kissing again, softly, softly, and rolls them over so he is now on the bottom. “Your turn,” he says, lying back into the duvet.

Jack’s breath hitches, and he’s not sure how he manages to reach for the golden buttons and fastenings that run down the center of Pitch’s jacket. But he does it. He unbuttons each one, and then Pitch sits up and kisses him, as Jack pushes the black material off of his shoulders. Jack pulls off the white, linen undershirt, and then works on the trousers only to be stopped by Pitch’s own set of boots. He unlaces them haphazardly, but when he pulls them off, he repeats Pitch’s gesture of kissing each foot, before he climbs back onto the bed into Pitch’s waiting arms.

“You don’t, perchance, happen to have something slick with you, do you?” Pitch murmurs when they resume kissing.

“Hmm…afraid not,” says Jack.

“Humph,” Pitch mutters.

He rolls them onto their side, and begins grinding his cock against Jack’s. Jack is perfectly okay with this course of action, and reciprocates with due enthusiasm. “Next time,” Jack whispers as Pitch suckles on his neck. “Next time I’ll make sure I have lube—next time you can fuck me, I promise.”

Pitch brushes the white bangs out of his eyes. “Will there be a next time, Jack? Should you make such promises to me?”

Jack leans up and presses their mouth together in what feels like an oath. He whispers, resolutely, “Next time,” and Pitch does not take more time to protest. Instead he takes both of their cocks in his fist and pumps them up and down. Jack lets his hands roam, fondling pectorals, tracing abdominal muscles and groping the finest ass-cheeks he has ever felt. One hand finds its way down to cover Pitch’s as they both get closer and closer to orgasm. Jack’s breath hitches as he feels his release squirt over his stomach. Pitch’s follows close behind, and Jack feels sated, though slightly anti-climactic.

“I thought you would be all rough and tumble with me, given the show you gave down on the main room,” Jack murmurs as he tucks his head into the curve where Pitch’s shoulder meets his neck.

Pitch chuckles and leans down to kiss the bite mark still fresh on Jack’s neck. “Next time, sweet Shepherd. Next time.”

Jack pulls back to look at him. “Next time?”

“Next time,” Pitch says with a nod.

He kisses Jack so sweetly that Jack believes he will not lie. But the next morning as they lie in a borrowed bed, Jack wakes to a warm chest at his back and a warm arm holding him close. But almost as soon as he realizes they are there, the body fades into the shadows of the sheets and all Jack feels is his own cold. He rolls over, and if he did not have the teeth mark to prove it, Jack might wonder if Pitch were ever there at all. He sighs, and slides out of the bed to collect his clothing.

At the end of the bed, the uniform and the sexy bunny costume mix together. Jack pulls on his leather pants and boots, but his hand wavers over the jacket with the gold trim and fastenings. He pulls it on, experimentally, and finds it fits him quite well, if it is a little long. Jack raises the collar to his noise and smells spiced mead and dew like a fresh morning. He buttons it up just enough to hide his bare flesh, and then goes to find Jacko to thank him for an excellent party.

He hopes that in the end, both he and Pitch keep their promises.


End file.
